


The Morning After

by BMWM



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Women, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, F/F, Falling In Love, Feelings, Feels, Female Characters, Female Relationships, Fingerfucking, Firsts, Gen, Happy Ending, Kissing, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbians, Light-Hearted, Love, Modern Era, One Night Stands, One Shot, Oral Sex, Other, Out of Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn With Plot, Relationship(s), Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Slash, Slice of Life, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BMWM/pseuds/BMWM
Summary: They never stay. Karin likes it that way. Her new squeeze may not have gotten the memo.Takes place primarily "The Night Before".
Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Karin, Haruno Sakura/Karin
Kudos: 26





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet contains graphic descriptions of sex between two consenting adults. This is considered 18+ content and would be X-rated if it were an USA film due to sex to plot ratio and profanity use. I am not responsible for any burned retinas.
> 
> Also, Karin is probably completely OOC but, hey, she's consistent with my headcanon for her so....
> 
> There is one mention of anti-feminist behavior being "sexy". I hope to keep that within context. (I promise it's not as bad as this sounds)
> 
> Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto

This is just for tonight. No strings attached. A one-off, a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, a one-night-stand. I’ve done this before. I know the drill. She won’t be here in the morning, probably won’t even stay the night. But, dear-holy-father-in-heaven-above, I need this right now.

She wants me, too. I can see it in her green eyes. Bright, clear, free. She’s beautiful, standing there in the dim light from my bedside lamp. She’s eyeing me, waiting for something—for me to make my move. God, what a pansy. So anti-feminist. And, somehow, it’sexy. She’s petite, shy, self-conscious. I could make her into something so much more….

But this is all we have. One night. Here. Now. God, my heart is pounding. My hands shaking. My body tingling. I want to see what she looks like out of that pink camisole. I want to hold her breasts, cup them, stroke them. Feel her breath against my collarbone, her teeth on my shoulder.

“Is this your first time?” I ask instead, crossing to her and standing so close I can see her darker roots coming in under the bubble-gum-pink dye-job. We did the foreplay-thing on the cab ride here. Cuddled, held hands, stared longingly at each other. She’s a tease, but not a tramp. Tentative, hesitant, hot, cold. But I can tell she wants this. She wouldn’t be here, in my bedroom, unless she really wanted to. That much of her personality I can gather.

She smiles, lips tugging up and out, morphing her face into something so serene, so sweet. Her eyes close. She trusts me. “With a woman?” She opens her eyes, something harder there, something strong-willed, fiery, and passionate. That’s the woman I was attracted to. “No.”

Her hands find my face, cup my chin, stroke my cheek. Her lips, so supple, so gloriously red, find mine. The kiss is soft, her lips caressing instead of lapping. Pressure, need, want, lust. She needs this. She needs me. Wants me. Desires me. Oh, fuck, God, yes.

My hands are in her hair, my tongue counting her teeth. Oh, god, her tongue is amazing, her mouth warm, moist. My body wrapped up in her arms as she strokes me, up, down, around. She’s playing with the hem of my shirt, seeking permission. I moan, the sound muffled by her tongue sucking mine. Her hands, long fingers, tiny palms, explore the skin of my stomach. 

My hands are under her cami, stroking at her lacy bra, checking for a front clasp, reaching around for the back hook. She gasps when her bra comes loose. She smirks something feral at me, pulling away from our kiss, before coming back in. Lower now, kisses trailing my ears, down my chin, to that oh-so-sweet spot on my neck. I inhale a single breath of air, unable to move as she sucks just-so right where she needs to. My whole body tingles with exertion.

I’ve got to have her. Now.

“Fuck.” I grasp her hips, her cami riding up over my hands. Sweet-mother-of-mercy, this woman will be the death of me. And what a way to go: desire pumping through my veins, lust pounding in my temples, my heart beating somewhere much lower than it normally resides.

She pauses, much to my dismay. Winks. The gall!

And then her shirt is somewhere on the floor and mine is somewhere across the room, our pants in equal denim-puddles. Her panties are lace, silky. Mine are black and shiny. Both skintight. We might as well be naked as we grind our hips together. I’m so wet. Her quick and deep moans mean she is, too.

“Bed,” she breathes and I do as she asks.

Her hands caress me, running up and down my body, massaging my pert breasts. Her lips suck and her teeth nip my shoulders, my hips, the space just under my belly button. Her fingers wrench off my panties, I try to protest, but then her tongue has found my clit and I just, just, just—can’t. She’s too good. Sucking, fingering, teasing. I’m twitching for release, my body humming in desire. I can’t tell what is her moans and what are my screams. 

Her fingers hit that sweet spot, my g-spot, the spot. And my hips buck up. I can feel her smile as she does something amazing with her tongue and suddenly I’m in too much pleasure to care that she’s teasing me, that she’s toying and playing. I can’t even care about her devilishly-sweet smile pressing into my groin. 

My legs press to the sides on their own. Pressure builds in my pelvis. I’m bearing down. It’s coming.

I’m gonna—

Holy-God-fucking-damn-in-a-drought—I may have said that out loud as my vision goes white, my body bucking with desperation mixed with release. Orgasm. After. Orgasm. Over and over again.

I’m panting, out of breath, wishing for more yet fully satisfied. I need to taste her. To give what she’s given to me. I reach out, pull her mouth to me. Her lips are salty. Me. I taste me. I groan into her mouth, and flip positions so I’m on top of her. My fingers dance down her sides, tickle her pelvis as she wriggles in pleasure. Her panties come off with one flick of my wrist. I take my time, stroking her legs, playing with her pubic hair. She bucks under me when my mouth touches the perfect spot at the base of her neck. 

She pushes me away, weakly. She’s scowling, a heat across her cheeks. “Quit playing and get on with it.”

So forceful. So demanding. I guess I’ll have to give her what she wants. My fingers stretch her out, in, out, up, down. Her breath hitches in her throat. My mouth meets her clitoris, licks it, tentatively at first, carefully. Seeking a response. She’s sweetly salty, her clit swells at my touch. She’s writhing underneath me as I go in, out, in, out with my fingers. And sucking her, licking her, pleasing her. 

She moans, bucks her hips, tosses her head from side to side. Her hands are splayed in my hair, caressing me, pulling lightly in pleasure. I moan into her groin, sucking, licking, fingering, teasing. Her hips rock, she clenches her hands. My other hand steadies her, soothes her as she’s getting excited, strokes her leg and hip so lightly, so carefully. 

“I’m—I’m—I’m—Fuck!” Her breath comes in gasps, her legs splaying out beneath me, her toes curling, hips leaping off the paisley sheets with fervor.

She cums. Her taste exploding in my mouth, my spine tingling from the pleasure of knowing she’s pleased. I keep going, sucking, touching, fingering. She rocks, head thrown back, mouth wide-open in orgasmic-bliss.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

When her hips start to sag I slow down, ease her back down to the bed. With a final moan she relaxes, and I release her, my hands and mouth slowly sliding away. She pants, one hand over her forehead. I crawl over her and kiss her cheek, her shoulder, her hand, her breast, her hip. Lightly, with extra-special care.

“Oh, Karin,” she breathes between pants and sucking in oxygen. She has enough energy left to cup my cheeks, to stroke them and pull me towards her. Her sweet, supple, bright red lips part as my face gets near. She presses her lips to mine. Softly. My eyes close.

“Sakura.” I manage when we part. I stare into her eyes, look deep into their depths. Even as exhausted as she is they’re still bright, still clear, still glowing in the light from the bedside. Her cheeks are flush, her body humming with the after-glow, her skin soft, soft, milky soft.

Her arms wrap around me, pull me down onto the bed next to her. She rubs my back, up, down, around, in circular messaging motions. She rubs my arms, caresses my neck, scratches my scalp. My eyes droop, my breathing slows. I want to give her something in return, something of me for her to have for this after-sex treatment, to remember me by, but my brain is so foggy, so dull. 

It needs—it needs…something…something…she…Sakura….

It’s warm—that’s my first thought. Blissfully warm. Too warm. Yet too comfortable to leave the safety of my covers. I groan, stretch, curl my toes, extend my fingers, yawn big, pull my hair out of my face. 

It’s Sunday. I can do anything I want today. Stay in, go out. Whatever.

My sheets smell of sex and Her. Flowers, blossoms, spring, exotic travel locations. It’s what drew me to her in the first place. That smell—invigorating, energizing, exciting smell. And her smile, that gloriously-sweet thing, hiding a layer of devilish fire too bold and brash to be put out. 

The pink maybe not so much. Too much pink on one person. And, somehow, for her, once I’d gotten to know her, maybe not enough pink for her dazzling personality. If anything, she needed to stand out more, yet she was too afraid of being that different. Confident in herself, yes. Confident enough to show herself off to the world, though? No.

But in private? Well. A smile flows over my face, my cheeks flush, I run my hand down my side. She was definitely confident enough there.

I roll over, splaying my legs and arms out, reaching towards the other side of the bed. My body tangles in something warm, soft, and firm. My eyes spring open, immediately get lost in pink hair, milky skin, and perfectly red lips. I stare into her green, green, bright-seafoam, bottomless eyes. Her lips tug up and out, a smile forming on her lips. That impishly-devilish-sugar-sweet thing. She reaches up, pushes her hair off her large forehead. Fresh French nails. Perfectly manicured cuticles. 

How had I not realized it before? Must have been the dim lights at the gala. She’s fucking beauty incarnate. I don’t even know if I can breathe around such a perfect person. And blinking? Forget about it.

She’s staring at me. I’m staring at her. We’re staring at each other. And sweet-Jesus-Mother-Mary-and-Joseph. I just realized. She stayed. She’s here. In my bed. At my home. On a Sunday. With me. Alone. What the ever-loving-fuck am I supposed to do now?

She rolls forward. Her body knots into my tangle of limbs. Her arm is over my hip, her head in the crook of my under-arm. I can feel each exhale—too hot, too cold, too hot, too cold, too hot, too cold—which means she can feel my rapid heartbeat as it thunders in my ribcage like it’s already decided it’s outta here, there’s too much excitement, too much danger, time to skedaddle before it gets broken. 

Her supple lips part slowly. I’m still holding my breath. I’ve never had to do this before. The morning after. What were you supposed to say, to do, to want, to need? I squeeze her tight, try to do something useful with my hands—up, down, around, mostly in the same semicircle of her lower back. She’s got butt-dimples, a pronounced tail-bone and, dear-lord-mother-have-mercy what is her moisturizing routine? She must spend a fortune on body lotion. It’s gotta be a criminal offence to be this silky smooth.

Her butt’s taught, muscular. She must do squats like a mad woman to get that kind of definition. She did say something about kick-boxing in the cab. And oh-dear-god-whoa if I keep thinking about her derriare I’m gonna need a cold shower to keep my cool and not ask for a repeat performance of last night. I’m not sure if I can handle an encore of that epic proportion.

She’s patting my hip, squeezing my curves, snuggling into me. Her legs are between mine, her hair tickling my face. How the hell does she keep that kind of extensive dye-job so soft? Girl’s paycheck must go straight to beauty products and exercise classes. But, damn, does it work. And damn does she know how to rock it. 

I think I love her.

She blinks, takes one big, drastically dramatic inhale and then loudly says: “Good morning, Karin.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, please let me know by dropping a comment down below or hitting that Kudos button!


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